At a Glance
by transcendentalphan
Summary: A series of light hearted vignettes about life with Erik and Christine. Erik is somewhat OOC less so in some chapters ; not recommended for those who like a darker more serious Erik. Reviews and suggestions are helpful and appreciated. Rated T for mild L
1. Chapter 1

After the Party

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera...sadly.**

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she exclaimed, "The man was so arrogant and pompous he stifled the room with his ego! I couldn't believe the absolute intolerable rubbish that came forth from his mouth. How he 'wouldn't speak of children' because they were 'silly, ignorant fools!' The nerve of some men—really! And he wore those wretched shirts—you know the white ones with blue cuffs and collars—it asserted his intolerance before he even began to speak. It's so contrived it makes me ill!"  
"My, my, you don't seem to have an opinion on this, love," Erik teased climbing into the carriage after his wife. "Why don't you tell us how you really feel?"  
"Oh, quit mocking me, you fool," she insisted sitting down in a huff, "I saw the disgust on your face as well."  
Erik chuckled low in his chest as his wife continued. "And how brutish he is about women! He talks of us as would a caveman. He's positively primeval!"  
"You're preaching to the choir, my dear. You needn't argue with me. You know you have nothing less than my unwavering respect."  
"Yes, yes, I know that. And I damn well love you for it," she muttered under her breath crossing her arms across her chest.

"Pardon me, what was that? Foul words from the mouth of my little songbird! My ears surely deceive me!" Christine shot him an impish smirk, only to be returned by his devilish grin.

"Don't patronize me like a child," she chided back.  
"Ah, for we both know you are far from that. Your youth has left you long ago; that child-like wonder gone from your eyes and soul. Grey hair has set in and before long you shall shrivel into an old woman."

"Ach! Erik, stop it!" He received a light smack on his arm.

"Yes, your days are doubtlessly numbered now." Erik chuckled again, failing to dodge her playful hitting. "You're far too old for silly things like chocolates and jaunts about the park. No, no, you mustn't dance or swim, you may break a hip. Then what would become of you?"  
"Chocolates? Which chocolates? You have chocolates, Erik? Are you hiding something from me?"  
"My dear, why would I ever hide such an important thing from you as chocolates?" he cried as he drew a dramatic hand to his chest, sounding truly appalled.

"You're use of sarcasm is unparalleled. Where did I find a wit like you?" She nearly laughed, barely suppressing a grin.

"I believe I'm rubbing off on you, darling. Or perhaps it is Giselle's stupid friends which have put you in this uncharacteristic mood. Honestly, I don't know why you dragged me to this event; I don't care that she's your costar, she's nothing more but a pig stuffed into a hoopskirt and corset and that bumbling husband of hers is scarcely better."

"I don't know," Christine sighed, leaning wearily on Erik's inviting shoulder, "I suppose I agreed to go because it would look inconsiderate if I declined. I'm so tired of doing things for form and propriety. Hang society, I want to tell a man if he's being rude when he talks to me."

"Am I to assume you are still hungry?" Erik interjected, attempting to change the subject, "Seeing as you insisted we leave before dinner. Because, as I believe you said so eloquently, you didn't 'want to stay and see how that animal stuffs himself with garbage more deplorable than the endless drabble of speech which falls from his lips.'"

"I suppose I was rather harsh, but he is a brute just the same. And yes, I'm starving."  
Smiling to himself at the audacity of his precious wife, Erik leaned forward to call to the driver, "Dominique! Change of plans, we will be dining at home tonight. Without reservations I doubt we will be eating within the hour at any restaurant."  
"Noted, monsieur. À L'Opera?"  
"Non, not tonight, to the estate."  
"Oui, monsieur."  
Erik reclined back into his seat enveloping his smiling wife in his embrace.

As the carriage pulled up to the house Christine's head perked up and peered around the curtains, out the small window at the familiar view. "That never gets old," she sighed resting her chin on her hand which was perched on the sill.

"What doesn't, love?"  
"_Our_ home," she smiled. He squeezed her tiny gloved hand in his kissing the palm, and helped her down the steps.

"Merci, Dominique. Bon nuit." Erik nodded as he pressed a bill into the driver's hand.  
"Bon nuit, monsieur, madame."  
The carriage once again lurched away and couple strode up the walk and into the house; _their_ house.

They ended up eating a fine meal that night, Duck a L'Orange, on Erik's insistence. Though it took a time to prepare, it was worth the wait, and Christine would not have to weather through any more societal obligations that would doubtlessly arise in a restaurant. Still, Erik had ensured that no atmospheric experience would be compromised: the table was covered with their best burgundy tablecloth, stylishly folded napkins, candles, china plates, and red wine all enshrouded in a moonlit corner adjacent to the back porch. The duck had been greatly enjoyed judging by the satisfied expressions of the pair and the plates which now lay bereft of everything but a sprig of parsley. Christine held hers absentmindedly twirling its stem between her fingers.

"It's beautiful out," she commented. And it was: the autumn air was blowing in cool and crisp over the hills, the creek could be heard scuttling by over rocks and gullies just out of sight, and the night was alive with the sound of crickets chirping; a nightingale even honored the two with a song.

A slight breeze caught in Christine's hair and she leaned into its comforting touch. Erik gazed at her lovingly across the table, marveling at the woman he was blessed to call his wife. Breathing in the night air, a deep sense of serenity washed over him. Nature surrounded their home channeling a constant feeling of pristine life and renewal about them. It was a constant reminder of the beauty that often enchants the world unnoticed.

"Pardon, love, but would you care for a walk?" he asked, suddenly in need of his wife's close presence.

"Mmm," Christine nodded. He offered her his hand, helping her out of her seat and draped the blanket which had rested in her lap, over her shoulders to keep out the chill. They set out towards the creek with his arm around her and her head against his chest stopping occasionally to embrace or watch the lightning bugs play hide-and-seek slipping in and out of the darkness with their faulty beacons of light. The grass dampened as they drew closer to the water and the greenery grew more densely around them. As they finally reached the water's edge Christine nimbly leapt over the narrow channel and stood back to watch her husband make an Olympic spectacle of it all.

Erik stood twenty feet back to get a running start then took a flying leap over the ten inch stream that trickled below him. Christine laughed with mirth to see her husband behave so lightheartedly. He rejoined her once again on the opposite bank offering her his arm casually as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place before continuing on their way. Within a few minutes they had reached a clearing in the foliage that opened up into a small meadow; with a perfect view of the night sky. The nearest city was far enough away that it didn't obscure their view of the stars and the moon was not so full as to be distracting.

Seeing this as a prime location, Erik lifted the blanket off of Christine's shoulders and laid it out on the ground. Christine turned around to find Erik lying on his back, hands crossed under his head, looking up at the stars. Silently, he motioned for her to sit down beside him; she consented. Wrapping her arms around his waist she turned to look up at the sky. Billions and billions of stars shown down upon the pair.

"You see that?" Erik asked gesturing to a cluster of stars. "That constellation is Ursa Major, also known as the Big Dipper. You see…this star is the end of the handle, and if you follow it along…you come to the ladle."

"Oh yes! I see it, that's wonderful. It's like cloud pictures but with the sky!"

"Yes, I suppose it is," Erik murmured in amusement. "Oh, and do you see those three stars there?"

"Yes."

"That's Orion's belt. And…_that's_ his head, see the sword?"

"My! This is incredible, show me more." Erik continued to trace the invisible lines in space connecting the dots to make pictures, much to the delight and astonishment of his bride.

Suddenly Christine's eyes lit up as she caught a glimpse of a falling star shimmering across the sky.

"Ooh!" she pointed out, "Make a wish, Erik."

"Alright," he humored her, "Mmm…I wish for…hmmhmm, a warm blanket."  
"That can be arranged." Christine sat up on her knees untying her cloak and wrapping the both of them in it. She held him tighter and rubbed his arms in attempt to warm him. Erik smiled and thanked her for her generosity. Christine smiled happy to be near him.

"Oh, there's another," Erik gestured, "Your turn."

"Um…I wish for…uh…another shooting star," she decided, unable to think of something she really wanted.  
"Can you do that?"  
"I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. Perhaps it's an unwritten rule. Oh, heavens now the sky shall explode!"  
"I fear you may have created a rift in the universe, my dear. You have torn a hole in the space-time continuum. Stars will never fall again!"  
"Oh, no! Oh I wish I had never wished that." Just at that moment another star streamed past, "Thank goodness," she cried.

"Would you like to try again? Let's wish for something simpler this time."

"Agreed. Hmm…I know! I wish you'd quit hiding the chocolates!" she announced in triumph.

"Ahaha…alright, you win," he relented, reaching into his pocket. "Wish granted, love." Erik handed over a small bundle of Belgian chocolates wrapped in twine.

"Ooh, Erik! I knew it; I knew you were hiding them. I could sense it."

Erik laughed as she hastily untied the package.

"Did I not tell you I new you were hiding them?"

"That you did, darling. Let it be known that chocolates can never be hidden from my Christine!"

"I knew it…mmm…these are delicious, Erik. Thank you. Would you like to try?"

"No, no, those are yours, dear. I couldn't pos—" his sentence was interrupted by Christine who popped one of the truffles into his mouth.

"Mmm…alrigh'," he managed with his mouth full of the sweet, "Jus' one then." Christine laughed taking another for herself and giving another to him until the bag's contents was depleted.

"My goodness, we polished those off in no time," Erik commented.

"Mmm, and just in the nick of time too, I think its starting to rain."

"So, it is. Shall we head back, soon?" he asked, unable to hide mild disappointment.

"Not quite yet. I've always loved the rain. I should love to sit in it for a time."

"As you wish," he whispered, pulling her closer to him. The pair sat in the light shower, letting the mild drops patter against their skin and clothes listening to the rhythmic mist fall around them.

"Not many people like the rain," Christine mused, "but I always have. It brings greenery and life to nature. And the sound of water, in any form, has to be the most beautiful sound in the world."

"Couldn't agree more."

They watched and listened a few minutes longer but departed on Erik's orders when he noticed that she had begun to shiver. Walking quietly in companionably silence, each lost in thoughts of the other, they headed back to the house to dry off.

Upon arriving, Erik scooped her up and carried her to the hearth. Placing her on the rug, he stooped to light a fire. Once the blaze was crackling he turned to Christine again:

"Wait here, I'll get you some blankets and a towel."

Christine, nodded, her teeth chattering. Within moments she saw a multitude of blankets being flung over the railing of the second floor and cascading down only to land in a heap beside her.

"Th-thank you, d-dear," she managed, calling up to him.

"Of course!" he hollered back, "I'm going to put on some tea for you, love, I shall return shortly.

Erik entered the kitchen and reached for a pot filling it and setting it on the stove. He peered through countless shelves before deciding on a soothing peppermint and chamomile blend. By the time the water had come to a boil and the tea had been steeped, he wandered back into the living room to find his bride on the blankets making adorable humming noises in her sleep.

Laughing quietly to himself, he settled down next to his wife and stroked her chocolate curls. He finished off his tea and set hers near the fire to keep it warm. Reaching for another blanket to make himself comfortable, he then leaned over to kiss her forehead.

"Goodnight Christine," he whispered into her ear.

"Goodnight, my love," she mumbled back.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dark Night

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera...or Erik...sadly**

_(I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update. I have no excuses for you =[ thanks for reading! =D )_

After some time Erik awoke to discover that the fireplace filled with charred embers and half the blankets were missing from the heap on the floor. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and looked around the room for any sign of them only to find that his wife was no where to be found and neither were the blankets. Erik doused the remaining ashes and hastily prodded them to ensure the fire was completely out. Shivering he tottered up the stairs as he picked up a couple of blankets which had been dropped along the way. Upon entering his room he found Christine swathed in an impressive amount of quilts sleeping lightly on the bed. He shook his head at the sight as he padded into the adjoining room, glancing back at her once more.

Moments later Erik stood in his bathroom leaning over the sink at his reflection in the mirror.

"Coming to bed, love?" a voice mumbled drowsily from the adjoining room.

"In a minute," he called back distractedly. He took a rare moment to admire his left side in the mirror. His profile was nothing to sneer at. Everything from his well-defined jaw to his emerald green eye held an air of masculinity. His fair skin complemented a head of thick wavy black hair, which ended in a curl at the nape of his neck. Though his face was lean, bordering on gaunt, he maintained a regal quality with his high cheek bones and perfectly arched brow. While he could no longer deny, thanks to Christine, that the left side of his face could be considered aesthetically pleasing, as he turned his head to look at his mask, one could have seen his spirit drop through his eyes.

He attempted for a moment, to unfocus his vision, and if he tried hard enough he could sense the beginnings of a face in place of his own. When masked, he looked almost normal; like any other man with the exception of his gleaming golden eye which shone from the depths of his skull. But he knew that, upon removing it, he would reveal a thing hardly worthy to be called a face.

Hesitantly, he reached for the cords of his mask, stripping himself of his one defense and peered into the unforgiving mirror. The malformed flesh below stretched across his features twisting over his overly-pronounced skull, sunken cheeks, and ended abruptly at the bridge of what would have been his nose. Instead, he had a hole where his nose should have been, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. Finally he met his mismatched eyes taking in his less-than-satisfied expression, resigning himself to this constant hindrance which had formed an undying attachment to him

Shaking his head in mild disgust he pulled open the mirror to reveal a medicine chest. Reaching inside he took out a jar of salve to ease the irritation from his mask.

When he closed the mirror again he could see Christine's perfect reflection, mussed hair and all, next to his as she leaned in the doorway staring at him lovingly through heavy eyes. He looked down smiling to himself opening the jar as she crossed the bathroom floor to join him at the counter dropping another quilt as she approached. Taking a liberal amount of the cream he looked up tentatively, not wanting to see himself again.

"Come here, love," Christine whispered taking the jar from his hands and guiding him into the bedroom. Erik smiled to himself and followed her lead. She motioned for him to sit down on the bed as she pulled up a seat from her vanity and reached across to touch his face.

Upon sitting, Erik visibly tensed out of habit; he was still not entirely used to being touched, even if it was pleasant. He welcomed any contact with Christine, obviously, but it often took him a moment to adjust to what was still, to him, a new sensation.

Gradually he relaxed into her touch and she began to hum to him softly as she gently touched his face. Erik's eyes grew heavy with adoration and a mild sense of disbelief. He sighed into her hands, blinking lazily; entranced by her song.

Still humming, Christine set down the jar, and began to innocently kiss his face. Erik, now beyond pleasant surprise, could do nothing but kiss her back. She caressed his face with kisses, making sure to reach every inch and paying special attention to the lids of his heavy eyes, his brow line, both his cheeks, and of course, his lips.

As he relishes in the feeling of her lips on his disfigured skin, he cannot help but wonder how such an amazing woman could take the devil's child and make him feel like a god.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later on that night Erik lay awake holding a sleeping Christine in his arms, mindfully stroking her chestnut curls, and listening to the rain. Her mane fanned across his chest and as her face pressed against his collarbone. He mused about his recent good fortune and pulled her frame closer to him. How far he had come to have this woman in his arms now? He thought back to a time when he was still her maestro; when their lives were still worlds apart, divided by a pane of glass. He used to stand behind it long after she had left and press his unmasked face to its icy surface pleading to be closer.

Now he could scarcely be nearer to her. Reverently he ghosted the tips of his fingers along her back, still hardly daring to believe she was real. Everything he had endured in his life, everyone he encountered protested the sheer improbability of the place where he was now. Time and the constant reassuring presence of his beautiful Christine had helped to continuously reaffirm his significance and worth but nevertheless he found himself haunted by the vaguest shadows of his past…the leering faces that spat and threw things at him through the bars of his cage…the man who had beat him with the same shackles that imprisoned him, that mocked his weakness and bound him to self-pity and loathing…the horrified expressions of people he merely passed on the streets…the pitiless unwavering hate his mother bestowed upon him since birth.

He touched his face in thought, feeling its ravaged surface. In the darkest recesses of his mind he continued to believe himself inadequate, unworthy of a normal life, undeserving of love.

There had been less than few who ever treated him with more than revulsion until Christine. She was the first to show him friendship, to deign to grant him affection. He only had eyes for her; he bet it all on her. It was up to her heart whether he had a shot at a normal life, whether or not someone could love him. She held the key that could have broken him, but instead she opened her heart. She showed him he was capable of being loved; that a face was of no consequence when one loved unconditionally. She could have had anyone, but she chose him. For him, there was never anyone else, she was his only. Christine carried the weight of that responsibility with her. But with that responsibility came his love unbounded.

He loved with a love that was radiant and overwhelming. There was no end to its supply. Every drop of love his heart was capable of possessing came showering out upon the only person who cared for him in the entire world, the only one he considered loving in return. The world had not rendered him incapable of love, simply unable to find someone worthy of it: the purest love of all kinds. It was a child's love for his missing mother, it was a father's love of his unborn daughter, it was a boy's love for a friend he never had, it was the steady, unwavering love of a man for his lover whom he sought all his life and had finally, finally found.

He pulled her even closer wrapping his limber arms around her petite body. In this moment, his fragile arms looked like that of a child holding on to someone he was sure of for dear life. While Erik remained thin despite his recent good health, he was no longer as hauntingly skeletal as he was before he had Christine to look out for him. It was of no consequence, in his mind, if he was thin or fat, but now he had more than just himself to live for. Christine's presence offered his life an entirely new meaning. His dependence, though he desired greatly to conceal it, came out more often than he would like to admit. As now, how tears flowed freely down his cheeks at the horrifying thought of life without his bride.

His trembling and quiet sobs caused Christine to be roused from her sleep.

"…mm, love," she mumbled sleepily, then began to sit up, "Erik…what's the matter?" He now trembled fiercely looking up at her with his pleading, gleaming eyes. Mildly confused, but far from utterly baffled at her husband's sudden change in mood, Christine calmly sat him up and took him in her arms holding him warmly. "Shhh, shhh…it's alright," she soothed, "It's alright, I'm here."

This seemed to relax him. His breathing regained a semblance of normality, still Christine made no move to lie back down; she simply held him stroking his back, reassuring him once again.

"I love you Christine," he choked.

"I know, love," she cooed.  
"Please," he whispered, almost ashamed for asking, "Please tell me again."  
"Always, love," she smiled into his shoulder, "I love you, Erik. I promise I do. With all my heart." As if to affirm her words she took his hand in hers and placed it over her chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He loved her ever more for her enduring patience with him. Many others would have grown tired of his constant doubting, even angered, feeling as if he did not trust them. But Christine understood that it was no fault of hers that he needed constant assurance, nor was it a flaw of his person. Life had simply trained him to be self-depreciating and suspicious of everyone who claimed to care for him.

"With all my heart," she breathed.

With his free hand Erik moved to brush the tears from his eyes. Eventually he once again grew sure in her embrace and kissed her hand in thanks.

"Forgive me my blubbering, love…I've made quite a fool of myself."  
"Never," she insisted. "There is nothing to forgive."

He sighed in tremendous appreciation as his face relaxed once again. "You are so good to me," he mused, "Never at all impatient or selfish."  
She shrugged off his words modestly. As they lay down together once more.  
"What can I do to make it up to you?"  
"Your love is enough."

He frowned. He did not consider his love an extraordinary gift. It took no effort; it only flowed from him naturally nor did he feel satisfied with giving her merely 'enough'. He wanted to offer her abundance in any way he could; it was a mere token that represented the depth of his love for her.

Seeing his frustration she chuckled silently to herself.

"Hold me?" she asked.  
Erik smiled, glad to be actively giving her something, even as small as an embrace.

Christine smiled as he settled himself so that he held her close feeling his arms come around her. She faced him, winding her own arms around his neck she gave him an innocent kiss on the cheek. Feeling the desire to assure him further she hummed,

"Do you have any idea how wonderful it feels when you hold me?"

Erik raised his eyebrows at her sudden earnest declaration but said nothing.

"I love being in your arms." She offered, "It makes me feel like a goddess."

Erik saw stars, balking at the similarity of the thoughts that dwelt in each of their minds. It absolutely thrilled him beyond anything he had ever known to discover that his wife was as utterly elated to be near to him as he was to be near to her. While he did not presently doubt the extent of her love for him, he often found himself pleasantly surprised by the pleasure she derived from simply being near him. Too often he felt that he was begging for her affection, it was beautiful to know that her heart ached for him in return.

"I used to hold a teddy bear, do you remember it? I wouldn't sleep without it, especially after my father died. A teddy bear, however nice to hold, is but cotton in the end. A human, on the other hand, can choose whether to stay with you or not. While a stuffed bear can never leave you, it is infinitely more rewarding to find a person who _chooses_ never to leave you and vows to love you back.

There is something vitally, irreplaceably, wonderful about holding a living person in your arms with whom your love is returned," she wondered "…feeling their presence…their embrace…the pliable, warm softness of their flesh beneath your hands… knowing that the warmth you feel is a product of their heart which beats only for you…the same heart that is nestled so deeply in their chest, in the circle of your arms." She held him tighter.

"Promise you'll always love me?" She beseeched.

"Always," he returned, "Please don't ever doubt that."  
"No, I never doubt it…I just long to hear it sometimes."  
Erik's chest swelled. "I _love _you Christine."

She beamed. "I love you Erik."  
He smiled.


End file.
